


making amends

by fluffysfics



Series: rewriting history [9]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, healthy conversations are had, it’s ALL fluff, the TARDIS is a bastard but only gently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: The Master has some apologies to hand out, and a new life on board the TARDIS to adjust to.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: rewriting history [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064198
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69





	making amends

The Doctor doesn’t _make_ him apologise to her friends. But somehow, he ends up wanting to anyway. 

For another three days, the Master is confined to the TARDIS medbay, and they talk and talk and talk. Near the end of the second day, she lets her hand brush against his as she’s leaving for the night, and it’s so soft and tender that he thinks about it until she comes to see him the next day. 

Near the end of _that_ day, she kisses him. Things are looking better. They’re sat, reminiscing about their shared childhood, a rare light moment amidst discussing rules, and the Doctor’s distant past, and...more rules. He’s going to have to follow a lot of rules. But in this particular moment, he nudges against her shoulder as he reminds her of an occasion they snuck into the catacombs at night to get drunk, and she leans over all of a sudden and gives him a peck on the lips. 

The Master considers himself fortunate that he’s not as pale as usual in this body, otherwise he would be as red as a tomato. As it is, he’s pretty sure he’s at least noticeably _glowing_. It’s odd, how a quick kiss can feel so intimate when she’s given him so much more before. 

Perhaps because she’s giving this kiss to _him_ , and not to O. 

When the Doctor leaves that evening, he spends a good half an hour lying back and grinning like a teenager with a crush. 

The next day, she runs one final, comprehensive scan, and concludes that his hearts are well and truly healed. 

“You’re free to leave,” she says. “Well. The medbay. Not the TARDIS. We talked about that. Gotta be supervised for that. Everything’s on isomorphic, except lights and doors. If she gives you trouble about doors, let me know and I’ll speak to her, okay?” 

“Okay,” the Master agrees. He starts to button up his shirt now that the scan is done, and he grazes his fingertips over a series of thick, dark scars that knit together over his hearts. Regeneration energy tends to take care of scars, but he thinks these ones have been left behind for a reason. A reminder. 

“You sure you’re alright with this, Koschei? The fam, they were—“

“I’ll deal with that,” the Master says quietly. “I promise.” He didn’t quite know how or when, but he _would_ make things right. 

“Yeah. I believe you.” The Doctor steps closer, reaching up and fastening the last button of his shirt for him. Then she leans in, eyes closed, and kisses him gently. It doesn’t last more than eight seconds- he counts- but it leaves his whole body buzzing. 

The Master pulls on his purple jacket, endlessly relieved to be in the clothes he prefers. Minus the waistcoat, because maybe fewer layers looks a bit more approachable. Never mind that he’s already wearing the horribly garish trousers. 

“I think- I think I’m going to go to my bedroom and get some proper sleep. You...really _should_ try and do the same, dear.” He’s very aware of what the Doctor looks like when she hasn’t slept for a week, and this is it. 

The Doctor sighs. “No promises, Kosch. But I’ll try. Oh, actually- _can_ promise you I’ll _try_ , at least. There you go.” 

“Thank you, Theta.” The Master brushes his hand down her arm, and smiles, and steps out of the medbay to start this new life _properly_. 

——

After nearly sixteen hours of sleep, the Master wakes up optimistic, and with an idea. Pleased to _finally_ be in a good mood, he makes his way through the winding corridors to a kitchen, gathering ingredients, equipment, thinking over a detailed recipe in his head. 

He loves having a plan. 

And then the stove won’t turn on. He tries it twice. Three times, with an added ten seconds of swearing just in case that helps. Nope. Folding his arms and stepping back, baffled, the Master all of a sudden remembers something. 

_The whole TARDIS is on isomorphic_. 

“It’s a _stove_ ,” he exclaims, throwing his arms up in overdramatic frustration. “Come on. Please. Can’t you make an exception?” 

The ship just hums inscrutably. He makes a mental note to tell the Doctor about it later, but telling her now would spoil the surprise of what he plans to do. 

The Master sighs. 

“Please can you send someone to _supervise_ me?” Like he’s a child who might burn himself or drop a knife on his foot. Ugh. But if this is what he must do, he’ll do it. 

The TARDIS continues to hum, like she always does. The Master folds his arms, and waits as patiently as he can manage given the circumstances. 

And then Yaz walks in. She looks a little confused, and then immediately _wary_ when she sees him. 

“O?” 

“My name’s not O. It’s the Master. Like the Doctor, only...” 

“More controlling,” Yaz says sharply. “And manipulative. And evil, probably. What do you want? TARDIS said it was an emergency.” 

Oh, of course she did. Trying not to let Yaz’s mistrust sting too much, the Master sighs, and points to the stove. “She won’t let me turn that on, and I want to cook.” 

Yaz blinks. “That’s...not an emergency.” 

“I know. But I can’t turn it on, and I- no no no, don’t leave! Wait!” 

She stops in the doorway, glaring suspiciously at him. Her gaze says ‘give me a reason to stay’. Just like the Doctor, she is. Poor girl. 

But hey. The Master knows what he wants to say to her. This, he’s been thinking about for days. 

“I’m sorry, Yaz.” He steps forward, keeping six feet between them, but wanting to be a little closer anyway. “And I mean that. Really. You were so kind to me. Even I didn’t know what was going on in my head when I was O, so there’s no way a real human could have known, but you tried your best anyway. And you helped. I really appreciated the conversations we had.” 

Yaz watches him, saying nothing for several long seconds. Then she shakes her head. “I just feel _betrayed_. That’s what it is. I could talk to you. You got it. Understood everythin’ I could say about my family, or my childhood, or going back to visit Pakistan. Graham and Ryan and the Doctor- they’re great, but they didn’t get all that like O did. And now he’s gone. And you’re just...wearing his face. With a _beard_.” 

“I could get rid of the beard...?” 

“Not my point,” she snaps. “It- it feels like you made O up to relate to me, and then you took my friend away.” 

The Master figures that there probably isn’t much point telling her that he made O up to relate to the Doctor, actually. So he shrugs, and shakes his head. 

“Yeah. I know I fucked up. Badly. But- look. Okay. I didn’t make all of it up.” 

Yaz tilts her head, curious. “You didn’t?” 

“Not really. I mean- I didn’t grow up visiting India. Haven’t always looked like this. Same as the Doctor, I change my face. But my family back on my home planet wasn’t great. They were pretty awful, actually. Strict. Rich. Disappointed in me. Lot like the parents my mind invented for O.” The Master hasn’t ever told this to anyone aside from a select few Time Lords. He especially hasn’t told it to a human. But despite himself, he likes Yasmin Khan, and it would be a shame to alienate her forever. 

“Oh,” Yaz says. “But- you know that’s not an excuse, right?” 

“Yeah, I know,” the Master says softly. His contriteness is completely genuine; he really doesn’t want to hurt her, here. It’s not a way he’s used to feeling about humans. 

Yaz gives him a long, hard look, and then walks over to the stove and flicks on one of the burners. “What are you making, anyway?”

“The name of it doesn’t translate into any language you’d understand,” he said, and then paused. Right. Don’t be dismissive. Come on. “It’s a sort of dumpling, with a sweet paste inside, that we used to eat on Gallifrey. I’m making some for the Doctor. And everyone else, if they want them,” he adds as an afterthought. 

Yaz nods thoughtfully. She folds her arms, leaning against the countertop and studying him thoughtfully. “Can I help?”

The Master’s face lights up in a grin. 

He puts her to work making dough, and sets about chopping up a very specific kind of soft bean that will mix with sugar to form the paste. All of that goes into a pan on the stove to simmer down. 

They don’t talk as they work, but it’s nice anyway. Yaz has her back to him as he holds a large knife and she doesn’t seem worried that he’ll stab her, which is surely a positive. 

Once everything is done, they turn to filling the dumplings, and then lining them all up in a lidded pan to steam. Yaz’s shoulder bumps against his, just once, and she tenses up- only to relax as he gently nudges her in response. 

“Not gonna hurt you,” he murmurs. “I like you. I promise. And I know that doesn’t mean much right now, but I want to earn your trust back.” 

Yaz looks at him. She nods, just once- and then she wraps her arms around him and drags him into a hug. It only lasts maybe a second, and she looks a little sheepish when she pulls away. Like she’d been experimenting, just to see how it felt. 

“You’re really tryin’, I can see that,” she says. “Keep it up.” 

“I will,” he promises her. “I will.” 

——

The TARDIS refuses to summon everyone to the kitchen for dumplings, so Yaz goes off in search of Ryan and Graham, and the Master wanders off for the Doctor. He takes a couple of dumplings with him, because he wants to surprise her when it’s just the two of them, see her genuine reaction. 

He finds her busy in the underbelly of the ship, elbow-deep in a glowing hole in the floor. Any human in a ten foot radius of this would probably start sprouting extra arms and legs immediately, but Time Lords learn how to work with rays like this when they’re barely twenty. 

“Theta? It’s me.” 

She jumps, her head smacking against a pipe behind her with a loud _bong_. 

“Ow. _Ow_. New rule- no sneaking up on me when I’m doing maintenance.” The Doctor takes her hands out of the hole in the floor, shakes them like they’re wet, and then rubs the back of her head. 

“I literally announced my presence, that’s the opposite of sneaking up on someone,” the Master points out. He walks over to her, shutting the glowing hole in the floor and promptly sitting on top of it. He suspects that might be a leftover cheetah instinct- the urge to plant himself solidly inside of any clearly defined shape on the ground. 

“Yeah, well. You’re sneaky.” The Doctor nods to the box he’s carrying. “What’s that?” 

“Open it and see.” 

She eyes him suspiciously as he hands it over, and the Master realises that he probably hasn’t earned ‘it’s a surprise’ privileges yet. He’s about to apologise and explain when she shrugs, and- cautiously- opens the box. 

“Dumplings? Hang on. I recognise that shape.” The Doctor gives them a sniff- her eyes light up. “You _sap_ ,” she immediately accuses, grinning brightly, and the Master has never been so happy to be called that. Not that it’s happened very often. “Where’d you get the beans? I keep askin’, or I used to, and the TARDIS would never give them to me.” 

“They’re poisonous if they aren’t cooked the right way,” he reminds her. “And I’ve seen you in the kitchen. She probably doesn’t trust you.” Which means, he realises, that the TARDIS trusts _him_ to cook them the right way. Huh. 

_If only she’d trust him to turn on a stove, too_. 

But there’s no point getting annoyed about that now. The Master sits forward, watching keenly as the Doctor bites into a dumpling. Cautiously at first, and then eagerly, cramming the whole thing into her mouth at record speeds. 

“‘S _amaaashing_ ,” she mumbles through a mouthful, giving him two thumbs up. Smiling, he takes the other one out of the box, biting slowly into it. Yeah...that’s pretty good. He has to admit that. 

“Glad you like it. I made more- lots more. Yaz helped. And we talked. Quite a lot, actually...” 

The Doctor’s expression shifts through alarm, then concern, and then settles on curiosity. Not particularly charitable, he thinks, but never mind. “Oh...?” 

“Yeah. She’s...well, she’s not happy. But I think we came to a bit of an understanding. She doesn’t hate me. And that’s- I’m glad.” 

“You like her,” the Doctor says, her tone half teasing and half endeared. 

The Master squashes down his first instinct to scowl and deny it. “I do,” he says instead. “Quite like all of your humans. Still got two more to apologise to, really.” He glances down at the floor. “Was hoping to do that now. With your help.” 

She’s quiet for a moment- and then the Master feels a warm hand come to rest on his knee. She still touches him a lot more than the rest of her companions, and he’s oddly grateful that revealing himself didn’t lose him that privilege. 

“Yeah,” the Doctor says gently. “‘Course I’ll help.” 

——

Fifteen minutes later, everyone is sat in the kitchen, eating. Or- the Doctor is eating. She’s on her fifth dumpling, the Master is pretty sure. Yaz is curiously munching her way through hers, and he’s feeling rather too nervous to eat his. Neither Ryan nor Graham have actually taken one yet, although Graham looks like he kind of wants to. 

The Master is just gearing up to actually speak, when Ryan beats him to it. 

“Why is _he_ still here?” 

The Doctor puts down her dumpling. “Be nice,” she says sternly. “He’s—“

“He’s a liar,” Ryan pushes, standing up from the table. “I don’t know what weird...alien stuff, you two used to get up to, but he’s a liar. I don’t want him around.” 

“Come on, Ryan.” Graham rests a hand on his arm, tries to pull him back down. “Let’s not—“

“No,” the Master interrupts. “He’s entitled to be suspicious. Haven’t exactly given him reason not to be.” He leans back in his chair, fingertips drumming frenetically on the tabletop. “The Doctor and I do have a history. It’s... _far_ too long to give you all the details, but we used to be lo—“

The Doctor clears her throat and gives him a _Look_. 

“We used to be _friends_ ,” he continues. “And then, for a very long time, because of a multitude of reasons, we weren’t. A while ago, we tried to give things another shot, but we went about it terribly. Both of us. So now...now we’re trying again. For real. We want to make things better.” 

“Why should I care?” Ryan folds his arms. “Yaz- you’re just fine with this? You liked O, we all saw it.” 

“I don’t know.” She looks at Ryan, shrugging. “I’m willing to hear ‘im out. He seems...genuine. To me, at least. Like to think I’m a pretty decent judge of character.” 

Ryan looks to Graham instead, giving him a ‘say something’ sort of glare. 

“Look- if Yaz and the Doc are willing to give him a chance, I’m not gonna argue with them.” Graham leans over the table a bit, studying him, and the Master feels almost uncomfortably _seen_. “I think he needs a bit of love and acceptance right now. Don’t you, son?” 

The Master’s head snaps up in surprise, and the look of confusion and _longing_ on his face must have been more obvious than he’d thought, because Graham snags a dumpling, leans back, and looks up at Ryan like he’s just won an argument. 

It still bemuses him, how kind humans can be sometimes. How _forgiving_. He lied to them all for so long, and now one of them is calling him _son_. Hearing that makes him feel soft inside, makes him want to hold someone close and be comforted. There’s a lump in his throat, and he hastily starts eating to try and cover it up. 

Ryan glares at him for several more seconds, and then sits down. “Are those actually any good?” He nods to the plate in the middle of the table. The Doctor, Yaz, and Graham nod pretty much in unison, which makes the Master’s hearts swell with pride. “Fine. I’ll try one. But that doesn’t mean I’m letting him off the hook. Still don’t trust him.” 

“You don’t have to trust me,” the Master assures him. “But I’m not going to hurt you. If I was, I’d have poisoned the dumplings. Joking,” he adds hastily, as Graham blanches and looks down at the three he’s piled onto his plate. “They’re safe. I promise. That’s my point, see- I’m going to earn your trust. All of you,” he says, looking around the table and finally settling his gaze on Ryan. “Even if it takes years. Because you’re all... _ridiculous_. All the Doctor’s humans are. But it’s a certain kind of ridiculous, isn’t it- you’re all so brave, and so kind. I don’t understand how, or why, but...but I like you. All of you.” 

That, he thinks, was an awfully Doctor-ish speech. He can see her tapping her foot under the table, see her barely stifling a smile, and he knows he’s made her happy with that. It takes a _lot_ of restraint not to lean over and kiss her. 

“Really might take years,” Ryan says, but he sounds a bit less firm about that than he had done a minute ago. He glances down at his plate, and shrugs. “But I guess you can cook. These’re good. So...welcome aboard.” 

The Master beams brightly, completely unashamed, and it feels _amazing_. 

——

“So,” the Doctor says later that evening. They’re alone, and in her bedroom, and the Master is sat cross-legged on the end of her bed. She’s pacing. “Companions don’t hate you. That’s good. And I don’t, but- you knew that. Very bad at hating you, me.” 

He smiles. “Mm...yeah. Gonna take a while for them to trust me, but I deserve that.” 

“Yeah,” the Doctor agrees. She stops pacing, and turns to look at him. Apparently incapable of keeping still, she leans forward and begins drumming her fingers on the bedsheets. “I’m glad you’re here, Kosch. Still think you’re completely stupid for not telling me sooner. But I’m glad you’re here. Missed you.” The last two words appear to be addressed to the ground. She really is awful at verbal affection. 

“I missed you too. I always do, when you’re not around. Really not sure how it took me so long to twig that I should’ve just tried to be friends with you again.” He laughs softly. 

The Doctor keeps staring at the ground for a minute longer. Then she shakes her head, climbing up onto the bed, and flings her arms around him. It’s a surprise, but undeniably a pleasant one. Carefully, the Master returns the hug. 

“We’ve both been really, really stupid,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “For an _amazingly_ long time. Definitely ready to stop that now. Long as you are, too.” 

“Oh, Theta...” She tries hard to hide her emotions, this time around. In his opinion, she’s utterly terrible at it. He hugs her closer, until he can feel her hearts thumping away against his chest. “Of _course_ I’m ready.” 

The Doctor pulls back- just a little, not enough to break their embrace. And then she kisses him. It’s not brief this time, or shy; it’s the same sort of warm kiss she’d given to O so often. Only now, it’s a thousand times better, because she’s giving it to _him_. 

When they finally break apart, it’s been nearly ten minutes, and the Master is rejoicing in how good it feels not to have to hide his respiratory bypass anymore. He grins, breathing hard, and rests his forehead against hers. He feels...dizzy, and breathless, and full of an oddly euphoric combination of hope and warmth and _love_. 

They’ve got a long way to go, he knows that. He knows that _completely_. 

But this feels like a good place to start, to him. 

**Author's Note:**

> the series is over!! it’s been so great to write, and it’s been equally fantastic to see your comments on it. I’m just so so glad that people like this concept, and I hope you enjoyed the ending, too <3


End file.
